Fragile must not be broken.
Like glass or crystal, I suppose,
though they can be replaced
without too much heartache.
My Swarovski sunglasses
would hurt a bit more.
My life, on my Samsung?
It would shatter me.
Which reminds me.
Children break too.
Some of us you can glue
back together
and we shall go on.
Distorted, disfigured, damaged forever,
a bit lopsided but still - alive.
Never as alive as we might have been,
but at least, not dead
(only sometimes,
some of us wish we were),
and so we go on.
We may even come to see
our shattered mess of a childhood as a mosaic,
and find beauty in it,
and then find a way
to share that beauty with the rest of you.
But
sometimes the pieces can't be fixed back together.
Because no one saw.
Or someone looked and chose not to see.
Or looked then merely looked away.
Or perhaps we just looked too late.
Too late to do anything
but light a candle
and shed some tears,
and rage - in sincere pain - at the injustice of it all.
We rage and we grieve,
and our horror is true.
We rage and we grieve,
but that is all we do.
Just like the last time.
I did so hope,
as we gathered together her shards
to toss them in our bottomless pit of unlearned lessons,
that our hands bled,
because her blood was already on our hands.
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